


His Russian Queen

by sarcastic_fina



Series: The Multiships of One Chloe Sullivan [34]
Category: Smallville
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were some days she couldn't believe she was where she was; Moscow, Russia, running an inside job with her favorite green avenger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Russian Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellashy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ellashy).



"Пакет продвигается?" (The package moves ahead?") Oliver asked into the phone, his Russian sliding sensually from his tongue with ease.

Rolling onto her back, leaving her papers ignored, Chloe watched him from the bed as he paced, holding his cell phone to his ear, lips curling with disdain. "Это начинается завтра. Будьте готовы, мои друзья." (It begins tomorrow. Be ready, my friends.)

Shoulders tensed, he listened, nodded and then snapped the phone closed before running a hand through his hair. There were some days she couldn't believe she was where she was; Moscow, Russia, running an inside job with her favorite green avenger. The group Oliver had infiltrated was moving various drugs and weaponry to the States and selling them to the highest bidder, hoping to provoke a war as it sold to that same bidder's worst enemy. All Oliver needed to know was the drop-off destination so their team could get in the way, but as close as he'd become to Uri Slokov, he wasn't giving up all the details just yet.

He fit the part; as dark and dangerous as it was. With his pressed pants slung low on his hips and his muscled chest bare, save for the tattoo that ran from one shoulder to the other in an avenging angel style that drew the eye with its intense precision, even the set of his jaw made him look like a devil amongst angels. She supposed it was the opposite, though. While to others he seemed a cruel and unforgiving man, he was truly neither. An American in Russian clothing, playing the bad guy while his good guy instincts were carefully plotting every little thing.

A shiver ran down her body as his dark eyes turned in her direction. "Что Вы думаете, моя любовь?" he growled, tilting his head in question.

Chloe's grasp on Russian was better than most Americans and over the last few months, she understood what he meant. She couldn't often follow some of the others as they spoke too fast, but with Oliver she knew he took the time to enunciate and let her play catch up.  _What do you think, my love?_ he'd asked. A flush threatened to taint her cheeks;  _love_ , it wasn't so long ago that they were merely friends, partners, and now she lay near naked, watching as he prowled closer with a smirk of intense satisfaction curling his lips.

Shaking her head, she tucked her arms behind her head, feeling the leather of her black love against her hair. With glib honesty, and not a little concern, she replied, "Это - риск, который Вы берете сегодня вечером." (It is a risk which you take tonight.)

His eyes narrowed before he nodded. "Slokov is a smart man… If he does what I think he'll do, he'll try to move them at dawn rather than tomorrow night…"

"And if he knows you're behind it, that you figured him out," she reminded, "the boys will be taking us back home in a garbage bag."

Oliver grinned slowly. "I think we can at least afford a couple coffins, Sidekick."

"What's the point?" she muttered, rolling her eyes. "We'll be in various pieces strewn across Moscow… We'll be lucky if they find  _all_  of us."

He sighed, hands falling to his narrow hips. "What happened to that endless trust you once had for me, hm?"

Sitting up on the bed, letting the black fur that warmed her skin slide down her shoulders, she cocked a brow. "It must've dimmed some when we got ourselves entangled with murderous Russian mobsters…"

Chuckling under his breath, he crooked his finger for her to come to him.

With a heavy exhale of irritation, she rose from the bed and crossed the room to his immediate vicinity, but left a good couple feet between them as she crossed her arms petulantly over her chest.

Staring down at her in amusement, he reached across and cupped either of her elbows, rubbing up her arms slow and calming. "You think I'd let Uri kill you, Professor?" he wondered, drawing her a willing step closer. Licking his lips, his eyes darkened as they slid from her face down her scantily clad body.

There was something about being in Moscow, about knowing the constant danger they were in, that never failed to turn her on. She wondered if this superhero business wasn't getting to her head, because it was definitely doing something to her libido. His hands slid from her arms and down her naked sides before gripping her hips and dragging her against him tightly.

She let out a hitch of a gasp as her breasts met his hard chest, flattened against flexing muscles.

While one of his hands slid low, cupping her butt and squeezing tight, the other buried in her hair. "I would slit his throat before he ever laid a finger on you," he vowed darkly.

Her hero wouldn't say that; she supposed this was not the Green Arrow talking, but instead the Russian mobster he was now known as. Sergei Korolev; a private joke given that Korolev originated from  _korol_ , meaning king. Sometimes, she thought he might be having too much funny with yet another of his alter-egos, but then, given the circumstances, she imagined they needed as much light-heartedness added to the situation as they could find. Much as she'd always been attracted to Oliver, she couldn't help a primal desire for  _Sergei_  as well.

Sergei and his Katya, as she was known to his new  _friends_. Katya was a sensual woman who said little and had eyes only for her husband, but her ears were another thing. Always listening, always hearing the things nobody thought she would, Katya seemed inconsequential to the others but her inner Watchtower was always on duty. It helped too that her favorite pair of earrings recorded everything they said and so she could slow it down later and go over every little bit of information for later use. She might not be completely fluent in Russian, but she had her talents still.

Oliver's nose slid slowly down her own, his hot breath skittering across her lips. Chloe could safely say that while her time in Moscow had been riddled with espionage, constant fear and an underlying sense of paranoia, it was still one of the most eye-opening experiences of her life. With nobody but each other to really rely on, she had to open herself up to Oliver in ways she thought she never would again. She had to trust him, rely on him, and with it came the love she'd once feared feeling and now cherished wholly.

Deft fingers gliding down her thigh, Oliver hitched her leg over his hip and brought her damp center against the noticeable bulge hard beneath his pants. Calloused palm riding up her thigh once more, he squeezed lightly before slipping his fingers in between, just barely grazing her heat. Head falling back, lips parting on a gasp, she stared up at him through dark green eyes.

(So wet for me, my heart.) "столь влажный для меня, моего сердца…" he growled and she felt a wave of orgasm at just the possessive tone he used.

Fingers probing her folds, he rubbed her deliciously, swirling his roughened fingertips around her entrance and flicking her swollen clit. His mouth finally met hers, their lips slanting together and tongues reaching headily for one another. The fur still around her shoulder slid down her back, tickling her skin as she rocked herself both into his fingers and against his erection that lay hard against her spread heat. Palms flattened against his chest, she slid her gloved hand up around his neck, digging her fingers into his skin as she felt her inner-walls shudder demandingly.

"Oliver," she whimpered against his mouth and felt his teeth nip her lower lip before he soothed it with his hot tongue.

Her free hand slid down his waist, nails dragging along his tensing stomach, and nearly tore open the button of his pants before yanking low his zipper. Pushing the fabric down his hips, she gripped his straining cock tight in her hands, her thumb rubbing circles against turgid flesh. Suddenly, he lifted her up in the air, her knees gripping his sides as he cupped the back of her thighs. She could feel him, rubbing against her just right; her head fall back and a ragged cry escaped from her raw throat. "Please…" she begged, "пожалуйста!"

He chuckled darkly before kissing her deeply, sending her head whirling away and before she could get her balance he was thrusting deep inside of her, firm and heavy, forcing her tight walls to expand to his girth and length. There was nothing better in the world, not in the States or Russia or  _anywhere_ , than having Oliver Queen,  _Sergei Korolev_ , deep inside her. His hands were roughly holding her close while his hips hammered him in and out of her, dragging himself so far from her heat, she whimpered desperately to feel him again, and then he was  _there_ , hitting all the right spots, filling every inch of her shaking womanhood, making her heart ache and her body riot in pleasure.

Burying her face in his neck, her tongue reached to lick the sweat wetting his skin. Panting hard, she closed her eyes against the onslaught of ecstasy that bombarded her every sense. She climaxed twice, tightening her arms and legs around him, and still he rode her through each crashing wave. Hair damp against her skin, black fur stuck to her back, she bit the tendon between his throat and shoulder, grinning as he laughed breathlessly. And reaching between them, she curled her fingers around his shaft, nails dragging along the underside each time he left her. She could feel as he swallowed tightly, as his grip flexed and the pattern he'd made of plunging inside her was thrown off track for a second when he succumbed to her touch. But he was back at it seconds later, harder and faster now, she could hardly keep up.

Arm like a steel band around her waist, he held her so close her body slid only thanks to the sweat between their bodies. His free hand gripped her hair, fingers twined in blonde strands and around the nape of her neck. Dragging her head back, he caught her eyes, his face flush with desire and damp with sweat. His hard mouth met hers, possessive, loving, and as their breaths escaped them on a sigh, she came hard all around him, milking him into a similar and exhausting orgasm that had his entire body shaking with ferocity.

As her limbs slowly relaxed, her womb's contractions lessening, she held on and tried to slow her breathing, smiling tiredly as he kissed her lips, her chin, and down her neck. Her boneless legs slid to the floor, feet finding the carpet and helpless to hold her up. He kept her close anyway, leaning against the wall for his own support. For a few minutes, they did no more than hold each other. She knew, in times like this, when there was nothing but his hammering heartbeat beneath her ear and his strong arms tight around her as if scared she might disappear into thin air, that this was not Sergei but Oliver, her  _Ollie_. And she was not Katya but Chloe, his partner and lover and  _heart_.

It wasn't until a knock at the door interrupted them that their alternates had to come back to the forefront and Chloe and Oliver were forced to hide themselves away. It would all be over tomorrow, she reminded herself. Turning to look over her shoulder at the door, she hoped it was good news and not one of many problems that could arise. Her hand lay over his ribs, protective, loving, and she felt his chin against the side of her head, reassuring. "Back to work," he murmured with a sigh.

She could only nod, still staring at the door with natural suspicion. "Be careful," she demanded rather than asked.

He smirked. "Comes with the job description."

(Give me a minute!) "Дайте мне минуту!" he shouted to the door before rubbing Chloe's shoulders and standing from the wall. "I should only be a few hours." Picking her up, he crossed the room to lay her on their bed gently before he left for the bathroom to get cleaned up. "One more day, Sidekick."

She nodded, despite knowing he couldn't see her and rolled onto her back once more. When her legs had feeling in them, she would take a long bath and waste some time before he came back. In less than 24 hours their Russian home would be long gone and Sergei and Katya would be a distant memory. Some part of her was sad for the loss, but a much stronger part would be happy to leave Moscow and return to their penthouse in Metropolis, where her real friends and family were and she didn't have to constantly be on guard. Well, not always anyway; it wasn't as if her regular life was full of sunshine and daffodils.

Coming out of the bathroom, Oliver was wearing a fresh pair of pants and had a suit jacket over his unbuttoned white dress shirt. She could see the tattoo across his tanned flesh and felt a niggling sadness that it too would be gone come tomorrow night. But then, she reminded herself, as long as she had the man she didn't really need his many alter-egos to satisfy her.

With a grin, he crossed the room to bend down and kiss her temple lingeringly. (I love you, my Russian queen.) "Я люблю Вас, мою российскую королеву," he murmured with a gentle growl before he left the room to get down to business once more.

Grinning to herself, Chloe sighed. "And I love you, my Russian king."

In a few hours, when he returned, they would continue their farewells to Moscow and their other-selves before returning to the two people that survived each and every transformation that had been and would follow; Oliver and Chloe Queen.


End file.
